


day is at the gate

by blackkat



Series: luminous beings are we [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Jedi, Fluff, Gift Giving, Humor, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28711836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “I can't figure it out,” Boil complains, sprawled sideways over Waxer’s bunk. “General Koon’s is definitely the Wolfpack, and General Skywalker’s is definitely droid parts, but I have no idea what General Kenobi’s is.”
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Waxer
Series: luminous beings are we [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838944
Comments: 37
Kudos: 953





	day is at the gate

“I can't figure it out,” Boil complains, sprawled sideways over Waxer’s bunk. “General Koon’s is definitely the Wolfpack, and General Skywalker’s is definitely droid parts, but I have _no idea_ what General Kenobi’s is.”

Waxer hums, only partially listening as he checks over his not-precisely-legal still. One of the coils isn't heating as evenly as he’d like, and it made the last batch rougher than it should have been. The heart of what he got from the still that curls up, over, and around his bunk is already neatly bottled and waiting, but this one is being finicky. The idea that he might have to take it apart to replace the coil is depressing.

“Maybe he doesn’t have a hoard,” Waxer says, and fiddles with the jury-rigged controls, trying to even out the heat. Maybe if he can make the coils work separately—

Boil makes a dismissive sound. “Every dragon has a hoard, Razor told me that himself,” he says. “And he heard it from General Windu.” A pause, and then Boil lifts his head. “ _Hey_. I bet it’s cloaks.”

“I think you have to _keep_ the thing for it to be a hoard,” Waxer says, amused, and sinks back on his heels, debating going down to engineering and asking a few careful questions. Waxer is Ghost Company’s lieutenant now; he can't get caught with a still or he’s going to get busted back down to private, and Cody will be _disappointed_.

Of course, he could always bribe a _vod_ in engineering, because there are some floating around the edges who probably know enough to help him, but…this last batch turned out well, and Waxer has _plans_ for it. He can't make more, either; that was the last of the honey he sneaked out of the town their last deployment was in, and the end of the spices he managed to talk a civilian out of a few campaigns ago. If Boil hadn’t drunk the last of the old batch, maybe, but for now it’s safer just to stick to whatever bits of knowledge he can pick up on the sly.

“Recklessness?” Boil offers. “Can dragons hoard a concept?”

“I'm pretty sure General Windu’s hoard is the whole Republic, so maybe.” Resigned to putting off the next batch until later, Waxer shoves the still back against the wall by Boil’s bed, carefully tucking it back behind Wooley’s footlocker and covering it with a piece of blaster-burned armor.

“ _Tea_ ,” Boil says, with an air of revelation, and sits up. “I bet it’s _tea_. He’s always got a new type every time we see him.”

Waxer chuckles, rising to his feet and collecting the bottles he distilled. The first he tosses to Boil, who catches it with a grin, and the other he slides under one of Obi-Wan’s lost cloaks, this one found on the _Negotiator’s_ bridge. “It’s probably tea,” he agrees. “Don’t drink that _now_ , you have to go on shift in an hour.”

“I wasn’t going to _drink_ it,” Boil protests, giving him a scowl. “I just wanted to smell it. This is the one with that honey you swindled out of that guy, yeah?”

“I didn’t _swindle_ anyone,” Waxer says, offended. “I _expressed interest_ in his honey—”

Boil rolls his eyes and throws the pillow at him. “He thought you were going to come back and _inspect his hives_ ,” he says, and Waxer pulls a face and tosses the pillow back. It just makes Boil snicker, even as it slaps him in the face, and he says, “Guess he didn’t see you around the general or he would have known it was hopeless.”

“I wouldn’t sleep with a civilian, even if—just in general,” Waxer says. He wavers, debates putting on his armor, but he’s off shift for the whole day and that doesn’t happen often, so he wants to enjoy it. Staying in his blacks is a lot more comfortable. Decided, he scoops up the cloak and the bottle, and tells Boil, “If you miss your shift, Longshot will cry.”

“I'm not going to make the shiny cry,” Boil says dutifully, but he’s watching Waxer, smirk softened to something that’s almost an outright smile beneath his mustache. “He’s still in the hangar, right?”

“I think so. He might have changed back by now, though.” Waxer checks that the bottle is fully hidden, then takes a fortifying breath and smiles at Boil. “Later.”

“Luck,” Boil returns, and Waxer nods and slips out of the bunkroom, trying not to look too furtive as he heads down the hallway towards one of the unused hangars. It was set aside for Obi-Wan as soon as the fact that he could become a _dragon_ came out, because Obi-Wan isn't as large as some of the generals, but he’s too big to navigate the halls.

He seems to like it, too; Waxer knows that a couple of clones working for the quartermaster built him a nest out of blankets that were going to be recycled, and Wooley strung up strands of the movable landing lights the transports use in bad weather conditions, so that Obi-Wan would have reading lights. There was some discussion of cutting a doorway through the wall and installing some stairs right up to his quarters, too, but Waxer is fairly certain Obi-Wan overheard that and vetoed it for reasons of structural integrity, which is probably for the best.

It’s nice, too. Obi-Wan turns into a dragon to protect his men, and helping him build a nest lets them feel like they're giving something back. Over the months Obi-Wan has seemed to get more comfortable being a dragon around them, and—he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful and quick-witted and kind, and Waxer loves him in a way that makes his hands shake and his heart beat faster and his chest feel three sizes too large. It’s _good_. He likes being in love, which isn't something he’d ever thought someone like him would get to be. And—it’s not like he expects anything back.

It’s just nice to make Obi-Wan smile a little, that’s all.

Heartbeat quick, unable to fight his own smile, Waxer punches in the code to open the hangar’s side door, quickly checking that the hallway is empty before he slips through the gap. Technically, now that he’s Ghost Company’s lieutenant, he has every right to be here, visiting the general. The only one who could technically call him on it is Cody, and Cody's probably _thoroughly_ occupied with General Vos right now, given how Vos got hurt in their last battle and Cody's been worse than a mother nexu ever since.

A little amused at himself, Waxer listens for half a second, catches the deep rumble of a snore, and grins. He ducks through the door, letting it close softly behind him, and looks up at the massive pile of copper dragon curled up and fast asleep on the bed the troopers made. He looks sleek even lying still, glowing like heated metal in the strings of lights. His wings are folded around him, his long neck curling over the blankets and his long, elegant head propped up on a crate that’s been covered with packing foam to serve as a makeshift pillow. The holoprojector is still on in front of him, one long, hooked claw resting on the controls, and the display shows their next objective, notes that were scrawled in a huge, deft hand shimmering beside it.

Waxer can't help but smile, and he carefully unfolds the cloak, drapes it over a crate that already holds three others, and then slips forward, glad he left his armor behind. Quiet is easier to manage in his blacks, and Obi-Wan is entirely unconscious, long tail wrapped around him and spilling off the edge of the blankets. The feathery tip is twitching faintly, and Waxer has to quash the urge to catch it, instead stepping around one of Obi-Wan’s curving horns and switching the holoscreen off. Gently, he sets the bottle of liquor down beside Obi-Wan’s front foot, obvious but out of the way, then steps back. A touch darkens three of the strands of lights, leaving the room in gentle dimness, and Waxer steps back, just…looking.

It’s incredible. _Obi-Wan_ is incredible. Waxer knows he’s just Human, that he’s not invincible, that Waxer has personally had to rescue him more than once, but—he’s still larger than life, and was even before he turned into a mythical creature in front of them for the first time. He saves them, and he’s so _good_ , and he tries so hard. Waxer just…wants him to be happy. Because he deserves it, because he should always be happy, and—anything Waxer can do to help, he will.

Waxer knows full well that he’ll never be the _source_ of Obi-Wan’s happiness. But that’s all right. He can still do little things, help in little ways, give Obi-Wan at least a few moments of joy. And that’s enough, given Waxer’s distance.

With a faint smile, Waxer turns off all but one of the strands, leaving just enough for Obi-Wan to see by if he transforms back while he’s asleep, then slips out of the hangar, feeling warm down to his bones and humming softly as he walks.

“What is _that_?” Anakin demands suspiciously.

“Potent,” Obi-Wan answers, admiring the color as he holds the bottle up to the light. Catching a glimpse of Anakin's face, he snorts quietly, lowering it again. “And a _gift_ , Anakin. Someone left it for me last night.”

“Homemade?” Anakin asks, coming close enough to squint at it. When he goes to uncap it, though, Obi-Wan bats his hand away.

“Given the proof of it, undoubtedly,” Obi-Wan says dryly. “It’s quite pleasant, though. Surprisingly well balanced.”

Anakin looks from Obi-Wan to the bottle and back. “Did you actually tell someone about your ridiculous hoard?” he asks, surprised. “Most of the Order is still convinced it’s tea.”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about,” Obi-Wan says archly, and levels a narrow stare at his former padawan. “And even if I _had_ , my hoard is far less ridiculous than _some_ I could name, given that it’s not made up of _droid parts_.”

Anakin splutters in offense, but before he can summon up his usual protests, Obi-Wan scoops up the bottle again, tucks it under his arm, and makes sure all of his various pieces of rather sad and tattered clothing is in order before he starts out the door of the hangar. Given how much he’s been shifting, he should likely just set up a wardrobe in the hangar, but he’s been trying to maintain _some_ veneer of dignity.

And, of course, returning to his quarters regularly gives him ample opportunity to hide his mysterious benefactor’s gifts with the rest of his collection.

Smiling a little to himself, Obi-Wan tips the bottle towards the light again, admiring the amber color. It’s a thoughtful gift, in a pretty bottle, and one that’s greatly appreciated when their stops to resupply are few and far between. Obi-Wan likes a drink or two when he’s unwinding, and these bottles always seem to show up between campaigns, or after bad days. It’s just…thoughtful. Kind. Someone is thinking about him enough to leave him gifts, and that alone would be touching, but the fact that they're _tailored_ gifts is even lovelier.

Obi-Wan has never caught the person responsible, but he thinks sometimes that he would rather like to.

Stepping into his quarters, Obi-Wan lets the door slide shut, then heads for the narrow closet and pulls it open. There's a wooden crate on the floor of it, beneath the nice set of formal robes Obi-Wan keeps for emergency diplomatic encounters, and he brushes the folded cloth aside, then lifts the lid. Inside, neatly packed in cloth, are a dozen other bottles that have appeared over the last year, each one finer than the last. Obi-Wan has enjoyed all of them, but seeing the brewer progress so quickly is…well. Not quite _endearing_ , but maybe something akin to it.

Obi-Wan hasn’t shown anyone else his hoard since he stopped collecting polished stones and switched to finely-crafted liquors. The fact that his mysterious gift-giver apparently knows regardless has left Obi-Wan entirely at a loss as to who it is, but—either way he’s grateful. Either way it’s _sweet_.

Obi-Wan could use a little sweet, these days, and that simply makes him want to find out who it is even more.


End file.
